Sander's Courage
Page 17
ship could ever offer. And there's nothing like seaborne
camaraderie. The crew took to me like I'd been sailing with
them for years, and I felt the same.
We swapped stories. I heard tales of girlfriends and
families, kids and four-legged friends. Moms, dads,
brothers and sisters. Everyone talked at once, and phones
loaded with photos were passed around the mess tables.
I wound up bunking with Petty Officer Thom
Bleaker. He was so stern and wary when we met earlier on
the pier, but you'd never know it now. It was like we'd
been mates from school.
After we'd stuffed our gobs with navy chow, we
rolled ourselves back to our quarters. He had a bunk that
was carved into the side of the hull, all cozy and neat, like
a kid's fort; and I had a pull-down cot that resembled an
old Murphy bed, but I couldn't believe how comfortable it
was.
When the bed was lowered into place, it completely
blocked the door. So basically we were now in for the
night until Thom's next watch began.
But it worked
out fine because we had our own little bathroom with
shower, and he had a little fridge full of goodies, and a
microwave with plenty of Top Ramen and Hot Pockets
standing by. We were like two kids on a campout, ready
for a night of bullshitting each other and gossiping about
who did what in third period social studies.
"So now you've heard about me folks and all the
football stats in Chelmsford, it's your turn. I wanna hear all
about what brung ya from America to this here U-boat of
ours," Thom said.
"Well, I work for the U.S. Government out of
Denmark, and it's a really great job because, as you can
see, I get to hitch a ride on the occasional Vanguard class
submarine, and it's never boring," I began. "And I'm
getting married in December, so I'm taking as many
assignments as I can wrangle right now, so I can get a
month off after the wedding."
"Oh... Nice!" he said. "Who's the lucky lady? Is she
Danish?"
"Well... He's Danish. His name's Sander and he's
the most incredible person I've ever met in my life," I told
him, in the most matter-of-fact way I could muster.
"So... you're..."
"Come on, Thom! You can say it! It's a hard 'G'...
Guh... Guh... Say it boy!" I smiled.
"Gay."
"Yes! I knew you could do it!" I chuckled. "Don't be
afraid of the Gay! You've gotta know by now that the
Royal Navy was built on rum and sodomy! You don't
think all of those lashes in Mutiny on the Bounty were just
because all of the sailors were bad, do you?"
He fell silent, his eyes cast to the deck. Shit, I'd
blown it now. I'd mistakenly confused instant friendship
with someone's ability to overlook a basic difference—like
sexuality. Best I diffuse the situation before it spreads like
a shipboard wildfire.
"Look, Thom. Sorry. I totally get it. I can just go to
the lounge and catch a few winks there, mate. No harm, no
foul. I shouldn't have assumed you'd be okay with..."
"I'm gay." he said, his eyes still cast down-ward.
"Uh..."
"I'm gay, Johnnie. I lost me breath when I first saw
ya on the pier. Haven't been able to stop thinking about ya,
or keep me eyes off ya since," he told me, finally making
eye contact.
"Wow. Well, didn't see that one coming," I said.
"You could blow me... uh, knock me over with a feather. I'd
have never guessed."
Thom let out a little laugh and said it was difficult
for him to be on the boat for such a long time and keep his
secret close. I asked him if he had any special friends, and
he told me that he didn't.
"I don't wanna risk it for one thing, or have a
buncha tongues waggin' all over the boat. I'll have the odd
hookup when I get leave and fly home, but other than that,
I have me choice of two hands," he said. "But I'm not
gonna lie; I'd give anything I have to be with you right
now. Do ya think maybe? Agh! Man, this is so hard to say.
But... I dunno, I prolly sound like a spotty, hormonal
teenager to ya. I apologize, Johnnie."
"None needed. It's just that, well, I'm engaged to
the one person in the world that I would never betray, and
as tempting an offer, and as cute as you are, I'm out of the
running I'm afraid." I said.
"Nah! You're a fine bloke. Your boy's a lucky fella. I
had no right ta even suggest anything. Can we keep it
between us, Johnnie?" he asked.
"Keep what? I'm sure I have no idea what you're
talking about, Petty Officer Bleaker."
"Cheers, mate. Thanks," he said. "You were worth
taking the risk for, believe me."
"Sweetest thing anybody's said to me in a long
time. No worries, Thom. Some other time and this would
have been an entirely different evening, I can promise
you," I told him. And I meant it. He really was a great guy,
and I appreciated his sincerity and his willingness to be so
upfront.
We wound down with some innocuous chit chat,
lowered the lights, and caught some sleep, because zero
hour for Assignment Smith-Jones would arrive soon
enough.
"G'night, Johnnie."
"Night, Thom. Dream well."
"Wet dream, maybe," he chuckled.
"Not too wet, I hope. We are on a submarine."
"BROTHER, ARE YOU STILL angry with me? Do you
forgive me?" asked the soft, plaintive voice.
"Brother?"
"I heard you, Jannik. I'm working on it. Don't push
right now, okay?" Sander said, as he fried up a batch of
potatoes to go with the frikadeller balls he'd made from
scratch. Jannik sat down at the table and watched his
brother expertly work the kitchen.
"Can I help you?" Jannik asked. Sander just shook
his head no, but he did manage to make eye contact with
the young kid and shoot him a little smile.
"It's okay. Just sit there and hang out with me,"
Sander said.
"Brother?"
"Yes, Jannik."
"Never mind."
"If you're wondering if I plan to tell Johnnie what
happened, you already know the answer," Sander said, not
unkindly. "We don't keep secrets in this house."
"Will he hate me?"
"You seriously ask that? Stop being a child for just a
minute, and I want you to tell me the answer. Go on!"
Sander prodded. "Tell me if you really believe Johnnie will
hate you?"
"He won't, I know it. But he should. Just like you
should."
"How would you feel if we had spied on you doing
private things? Tell me what you would do?" Sander
pressed. Jannik just shrugged his shoulders. "Oh I see, the
kid with the brain the size of a bus suddenly gets dumb
and shrugs his shoulders when the questions get real? I
don't think so! Answer me."
"I will be angry. And sad."
"But would you hat
e us?" Sander asked.
"No! Never can I hate you or Johnnie! How can you
say this?" he said, once more on the verge of tears.
"Then do you think we hate you?"
"No! You can't hate me, Pokey! I'm so sorry for
what I did. It was so bad!"
"Well, you're right; Johnnie and me could never,
ever hate you. But what you did wasn't right. That could
never be right. You know that, don't you?" Sander said.
Jannik nodded, fighting back those tears for all he was
worth. "And I know it won't happen again, ever."
"Do you have to tell Johnnie?" he pleaded.
"Don't you think he has a right to know?" Sander
answered. "Look, for what it's worth he'll probably be
easier on you than me. That's because he
still falls for your cute kid act," Sander smiled.
"Dumb American," Jannik laughed.
"I love that dumb American."
"Me too," Jannik added. "Can I be the one who tells
him then?"
"As long as I'm there, too. I think it's a good idea."
Sander scooped the potatoes onto plates, topped
them with frikadeller patties, and carried the steaming
platters to the table. He took note that Jannik's demeanor
instantly changed with his resolve to deal with the
unpleasant matter with Johnnie directly. Had his kid
brother just made strides in his leap to growing up?
Perhaps something remotely positive had come out of the
whole sordid event after all.
Sander sat down beside his young sibling and
poured him a glass of milk. He saw the good in him; the
kid wasn't perfect, no one was. So he chose to forgive him
and move forward, as the two best friends by birth shared
the evening meal in quiet company.
Family.
SANDER AWOKE THE FOLLOWING morning to the
sound of a light rapping on the bedroom door. It could
only be Torben, because sometime during the night Jannik
had decided to become his bunkmate. The sprawled form
of his little brother took up over half the bed.
"Hey! Come in!" Sander called. The door opened
tentatively with Torben behind it as expected. "What's up?
You okay?"
"Yeah. I wondered if you were doing anything
today," he said. "If I give you money for gas and lunch
could you drive me somewhere?"
"Yeah. Sure. Where?"
"My mom's? I thought it's time, you know?"
"Yeah. When do you wanna go?" Sander asked.
"Whenever you say. I mean, it's a drive, you know.
They're in Roskilde," Torben explained. Sander knew, and
within minutes he'd gotten himself ready and woke up
Jannik.
"Get up, Spiderman. I'm parking you at the Hansen
house for a while. I have to drive Torben somewhere," he
said.
"I wanna go with you."
"Nope. But I'll pick you up on the way back, okay?"
"Promise you will?" Jannik said. "I wanna be over
here."
"Sure! It may be a little late, I don't know. But
if it is, I'll still come get you." Sander promised. Jannik was
relieved, and was soon ready and in the car.
THE JOURNEY TO ROSKILDE and Torben's family home
took a little under two hours with the side trip to drop off
Jannik. They didn't say much to one another, except every
so often Torben would point out a memory from the days
when they were friends.
Remember when we had a picnic there with the
klasse 8 gang?
Remember when your dad's car broke down on the
Storebælts Bridge and then the tow truck broke down?
Look, there's the place that rented us the sailboats
on your birthday. Remember?
Sander remembered.
He remembered everything, unlike the glowing
selective memory that Torben was drawing upon. But he
couldn't blame his former friend and lover for that,
especially with the limited time he knew he had. All of the
past takes on a comfortable haze when it's needed to
balance a hopeless future. Sander hoped that Torben didn't
realize that part.
"When did your family move to Roskilde?" Sander
asked. "I never even knew they left Odense."
"When I moved away Brian got a job on Sjælland,
and when it became permanent they packed up and left. I
was living in Kongens Lyngby then, doing all sorts of bad
things. That part you know," Torben admitted. "I didn't
even know they'd moved until I came back to Odense for
treatment. I thought maybe I'd move back in with them
but they were gone. Anyway, it wouldn't have worked
out."
"So what are we doing today?" Sander asked.
"I don't even know. I guess just to see them maybe.
One last time, and all that," Torben replied.
The address led them to a duplex in a worn out
part of town just north of the railway station. Torben
knocked for the longest time, but no answer came. As he
was walking back to the car across the overgrown lawn, a
girl on a bicycle told him where he could most likely find
his mother.
"Can we drive up the road and make the first
right?" Torben asked Sander. Of course, Sander told him,
and once they'd left the main road and turned onto the
small lane known as Astridvej, Torben saw immediately
the place where the girl meant. It was nothing more than a
shitty local bar masquerading as a burger and sandwich
joint.
"Stop there, I'll just be a minute."
Torben could hear his mother's cackling laughter,
obviously fueled by drink, before he ever left the car. He
walked in, his eyes adjusting to the lowered lights, his
senses assaulted by a mix of body odor and beer, cigarette
smoke, and god-awful music coming out of one crackly
speaker.
His mother was holding court, as drunk as a
skunk, with three overweight men—one nearly toothless,
the other in a well-worn tradesman's jumper, and the third
so foul and disgusting that it was all he could do to look at
the man—all hanging on her every utterance.
"Mother?" Torben began.
"Torben! Where have you come from?! Look, boys,
it's my son!" she hooted. "I don't have any money!" she
quickly added.
"Don't look at me! He's not mine, Lena!" shouted
the particularly disgusting one.
"Mother, can I talk with you?" Torben did his best
to get her to focus on him. But with the raucousness of the
room, and the free flow of alcohol numbing and dumbing
them, he was fighting a losing battle.
"Sure! What's on your mind, son? Tell mother! Do
you want a beer? Henning, get Torben a beer!" she barked.
"No thank you. My friend's waiting in the car. He
drove me here, so I shouldn't stay too long. I just wanted
to see you. To see how you're doing. How's Stefan?"
Torben asked, referring to his stepfather.
"Aaaa... He's long gone," his mother said,
dismissing the very thought of the husband that had
played the role of father to Torben for the longest time.
There was
his true father, who left when he was five; then
a series of boyfriends, and even a girlfriend for about a
year when Lena was attempting just about everything in
her quest for self-realization. Stefan was the most stable of
the lot, and he had obviously gotten his fill of Lena and her
bottomless bottles of beer and stupidity.
"Do you even know where he is?" Torben asked.
"He's on Fanø. Something about the harbor, or fish.
I don't know. Nor do I give a shit," she said, before
descending into another round of pointless laughter.
"What are you doing now? You got a girl, or got one
pregnant yet?" she laughed.
"No. I'm staying with some friends on Fyn. Looking
into some stuff. Not much, really."
"Do I know them?" she asked. He just deflected the
question and planned his exit. This wasn't going like he
wanted. It was going like he expected; just not how he
wanted.
"Nah. You don't know them. It's a guy from
America and his friend," Torben explained.
"Ooooooh... His friend," Lena laughed. "We all
know what that means, don't we boys?!" and she took off
on another wave of ridiculous, over-the-top laughter.
"You'd better sleep with one eye open, and
your asshole closed!" Again, with the laughter.
"It was nice to see you, Mother. I better get going."
"Don't I get a kiss?" she asked, with a fake pouting
face. He gave her a peck on the cheek, catching an
overwhelming blast of stale beer breath. "Be safe, son. And
come and visit me for longer. We'll make some food and
have a good time. Maybe get your sister to come, too!"
He'd heard promises like that all his life. They
never amounted to anything because before it got to
whatever the fun was supposed to be, the beer would have
beaten it to the punch.
"Bye. Tell everybody I said hello," he said.
The last thing he knew that he would ever hear
from his mother was some more drunken laughter as the
thin, wooden screen door slammed behind him. And
waiting in the car, as loyal as could be, was Sander. God,
how he had fucked everything up. God, how he knew it.
Chapter 26
he HMS Vigilant drifted slowly upwards to
periscope depth. Captain Madge was true to his
T word and let me have a look through the scope.
This was not your average submarine adventure movie
periscope, either. This instrument was about as high-tech